


Gentle

by darkrosaleen



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrosaleen/pseuds/darkrosaleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy with the world on his shoulders, a girl whose roar can't be heard, and two broken kids trying to put each other back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really old.

Some girls did yoga to deal with stress. Some ran track or played video games or went clubbing on the weekends.

Gwen Stacy masturbated.

She'd been doing it since middle school, and she knew it was healthier than some of her classmates' coping mechanisms. But in the wake of her father's death, Gwen felt so low she couldn't bring herself to do it. Everything hurt, from her head to her stomach to her bones, and she could barely stand to be in her own skin.

Gradually it got better, and the pain was enough motivation to force her body to feel something nice. She waited until late at night, then slipped a cautious hand under the waistband of her underwear.

It embarrassed her to think of boys she'd have to look in the face later, but he was the first thing that danced through her mind when her finger rubbed across her clit. She gasped at the throb of pleasure. Even the memory of him made heat run beneath her skin and tingle in her stomach. Gwen decided that it wasn't the night to fight with biology, and began working her fingers faster.

It was less awkward to think of real memories, so she imagined Peter sitting at the end of her bed. He was a bloody mess that night, but his shirt was off and she could see the tight muscles in his arms. They were firm when she touched them, but the warm skin gave under her fingers. She remembered him making a noise when she gripped there, a soft whine that melted out against her open mouth.

Peter was a needy kisser. Gwen was pretty sure she was his first, and he reacted to every touch with whimpers and shudders. There was a certain look he got, his mouth falling open and eyes fixed on her from under heavy eyelids, that made Gwen wet every time. Her thighs fell open as she pictured the way he kept leaning into her, whining in frustration whenever she pulled away. If she had a mean streak, she could keep pulling away and work him up until he was crazy with need. But if she didn't have a mean streak, she wouldn't have flushed hot at the idea. She bit her hand to stifle a moan.

At the end of the day, she didn't want to tease him. She wanted the soft look in his eyes when he wrapped himself around her. She wanted the way he nearly purred when she rubbed the back of his neck. She wanted the way his heartbeat felt under her hand, fast and steady but so vulnerable. She wanted him loose and heavy and relaxed in her bed, all his thoughts on the way she touched him. She wanted to make him feel so good he couldn't speak, couldn't hold himself up, couldn't do anything except make desperate noises and lean into her touch.

Gwen came hard, gushing all over her hand. She lay in the dark with her eyes wide open, breathing hard and trying to make sense of the images in her head. Everything was buried under an aching desire to protect. She resolved to talk to him in the morning about it, but if she was being honest, protecting Peter had always been her main objective.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Gwen was alone with Peter, there wasn't much talking. They hid in the music room during lunch, Peter straddling her outstretched legs.

"Wish you were on top," he murmured before licking her ear. Gwen giggled, then gasped when ran his fingers along the top of her thigh-highs. "Your legs are way too gorgeous to be under anybody."

"Remind me to wear jeans tomorrow."

"No, the skirt is the whole point. See, look at me, wrapping your legs around somebody looks stupid when you're wearing jeans. But if you did it in stockings, it would be better, because you'd have skin. I mean, your skin would be there, and it would be under your skirt, and I could reach up under it to get at more skin if I wanted to. Um, not in a finger-bang kind of way, unless you wanted to go in that direction, which would be totally fine by me--"

"Peter." She took his hair in both hands, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him stop babbling and meet her eyes. "We can totally go in that direction. Just not on school property."

He actually blushed up to the roots of his hair. She ran her hands down his chest and over his hips before settling them on his thighs. "And your legs aren't stupid, they're gorgeous. Unfairly gorgeous. I'd live in miniskirts if I had legs like yours." She gave his thighs a squeeze, and it made him laugh, but he was squirming around on top of her.

"Is that a dare, Miss Stacy?"

"Do you want it to be?" The thought of Peter in a schoolgirl uniform made her want to cackle, but she'd seen him in spandex. She reached around and groped his ass, which made the squirming worse. She broke into a wide smile.

"Would you like that? Being objectified and manhandled like a piece of meat?" He knew it was a joke, they'd been talking about sexualized advertising just before homeroom, but she swore his breath was coming a little faster. He ducked his head and blushed.

"Come over after school and you can find out. Aunt May's working late tonight."

There it was. They didn't lack opportunities to be alone (hard to when he could sneak into her bedroom at night), and they certainly didn't lack the drive. But for one reason or another, they hadn't managed to get below the waist yet. They were both in a fragile place, and they'd reassured each other that they didn't have to rush it, but something restless was building between them. Gwen didn't want to push things, but she wanted him so much it hurt.

"Okay." She wrapped her arms around his skinny torso and squeezed. "Just, can we talk first? I've been thinking about some stuff."

"Yeah, of course." His mouth was pressed against her hair, and she felt his words vibrate against her scalp. "I like it when you think about stuff. Unless it's 'you're an idiot Peter' stuff, or 'we're the worst idea since purple ketchup' stuff."

"Don't worry. I think you'll like this stuff." The bell rang, and she didn't let go of his hand until after the next period.


	3. Chapter 3

When Peter finally got the house key into the lock and shoved the door open, they were all over each other. It was nice to cuddle on the walk home, but Gwen's hand kept sneaking up the back of his sweatshirt and under the waistband of his boxers. She'd timed it so he had to stifle the worst gasps in front of other people, and as soon as they were inside he kicked the door shut and pinned her against the wall.

"God, you're evil. Watch out world, we've got a new supervillain on our hands. They call her the Incredible Tease."

"Well, I wouldn't tease you if you didn't react so much." She scratched her nails over the bare skin on his lower back. He crashed his mouth into hers, and his right leg wrapped around her calf. It wasn't long before the other leg went up, sticking to the wall behind her, and she was caught in the heat between his clenching thighs and his crotch.

"Upstairs." Her voice came out high, nearly hysterical, and her hands pushed weakly against his chest. She didn't want to move, she wanted to stay there and watch him rub himself desperately against her, but their first time would not take place fully clothed and sticking to a wall. She had at least that much dignity.

"Oh. Right, okay." The climbing was usually spontaneous, and she could tell it embarrassed him a little. Gwen claimed another messy kiss, her tongue flicking at the roof of his mouth the way she knew he liked.

"Up...upstairs. Yeah." When they finally made it to Peter's bedroom, he'd lost his sweatshirt and she was down to her bra. Gwen fell backwards onto the bed and pulled him down on top of her. Soon his shirt was bunched up under his armpits, and her hands wandered over every bit of skin she could reach.

"Gwen, can we--oh god." She smiled and ran her fingers over his spine again. "Gwen, oh, you're killing me, okay can we really stop for a minute?"

He sat up and crouched at the foot of the bed. Gwen tucked her knees under her chin and tried not to feel like she'd done something wrong. "What is it, Peter?"

He stared at a hole in his sock. "It's not that this isn't awesome. It's one of the most awesome things that's ever happened to me, and I still feel like I'm gonna wake up one day and find out I've been sleeping through a chem exam this whole time." She laughed and nudged his foot with her own. "But the thing is, I'm dangerous. And don't say you trust me not to hurt you, because _I_ don't trust me. I've given myself so many bruises I've lost count, and it's harder to control when I'm nervous."

He really looked upset. Gwen brushed his hair back from his eyes. "So, we'll just be careful." She leaned over and kissed him. The slow drag of his soft lips against hers was more intoxicating than his tongue in her mouth. She sighed, and her breath tangled with his. Calloused fingers ran across her stomach, and she squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache between her legs.

"I want," she whispered, pulling him down again by the front of his shirt. "Oh, Peter, I want--" He sucked on the spot beneath her ear, and he was so warm and heavy above her that her words turned to whimpers.

"Tell me." He paused to wait for her response, looking down at her with wide brown eyes. Her chest swelled with something hot and tight, giving her the courage to speak what she'd been thinking for so long.

"I want you inside me."

He inhaled sharply. For a moment he just looked at her, but then he lowered his gaze to her stomach and chewed on his lip.

"I don't know if I'm ready, Gwen."

"Oh." She propped herself up on her elbows. There was nothing wrong with not being ready, obviously, so she fought the disappointment washing over her and threaded her fingers through his hair. "It's okay, Peter. It's more than okay, it's totally normal. Sex should come when we're both ready for it."

He leaned away from her touch. "No, that's not it. Not exactly. I mean, thank you, I know you're trying to make me feel better and that means a lot." He leaned his elbows on his knees and tugged at his hair.

"I'm not stupid enough to tell you I don't deserve you, but do you deserve a first time with someone who has no idea what he's doing? You work so hard, and you've been through so much. After all that, it should be amazing. I'm a dork, Gwen. I'm never going to be amazing."

"If I wanted my first time to be with an expert, I'd hire a prostitute."

He cracked a smile. "I think I could be good, if I did my homework. But right now, I know I can't take care of you the way you deserve."

"Who says I want to be taken care of?" She crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He leaned his head against hers and sighed. Peter spent enough much time worrying about the state of humanity; she hated that he'd worked himself up over something as stupid as making her come. She didn't need him to ravage her with his sexual prowess. She wasn't even sure if she wanted it.

"I have an idea."

She sat up so she could face him. He didn't look as anxious, but the heat from earlier was gone. If she played this wrong, it could make him feel like she didn't take him seriously--or worse, like she was using him. She reached out and started playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

"You don't want to hurt me, and you don't want to have sex when you don't know how to make me feel good." She scooted closer to Peter. "But I do know. And you know more than I do about...boy stuff." He laughed, reaching up to touch her cheek. "So, I'm thinking, maybe we can teach each other. Then we'd both know, and it wouldn't have to be amazing because it's--"

"Just practice." He settled his hands around her waist. "I like your ideas." Anticipation fizzed through Gwen's body until she could barely sit still.

"You're really okay with this? I mean, if it's still too much, I don't want to--"

"It's not too much. It's perfect." He reached down and worked the button of her jeans free. She returned the gesture, revealing the trail of dark hair leading into his boxers. Her fingers shook with the need to touch.

"Okay, let me get my pants off. We are now entering a pants-free zone." He had some trouble untangling them from his legs, but it made them both laugh and eased the shaking in his hands. Once they were in their underwear, Gwen climbed into his lap, shivering at all the places their skin touched.

"Let me get your bra. I need the practice." His look of concentration made her giggle, but then he slipped the straps off her shoulders and took her breasts in his firm hands. He squeezed nice and slow, pausing to play with her nipples, and she wondered where he got the idea that he wasn't a good lover.

"Mm. Give me your hand." It should have been embarrassing, letting somebody see the dirty part of her mind, but all her attention was on Peter and how hungry he made her feel. She brought his hand down between her legs, and he rubbed the damp spot on her panties. She pulsed under his fingers, and she nearly sobbed at how good it felt.

"Oh. Wow. I did that?" His voice was dangerously close to cracking, and his eyes were huge when he looked up at her. She kissed him roughly and crushed her hips against his. He was so warm there, with only two thin layers of fabric separating her aching flesh from the hard bulge in his shorts. She got up on her knees and guided Peter's hands to her waistband.

"Oh god. You smell so good." He was flushed all the way down his chest, and his mouth hung open. Gwen kicked her panties onto the floor and tugged Peter's boxers over his erection. She couldn't stop her face from burning--the only real penises she'd ever seen belonged to her infant brothers--but then it dripped and twitched against her while Peter clawed at the sheets, and it was the prettiest thing she'd ever seen.

"Okay, first lesson." She took his hand and moved it into position. "The clitoris, a.k.a. your new best friend. It's sensitive, so be careful. But not too careful."

He rubbed his thumb in a circle, slow but firm. Gwen gasped, legs trembling so hard she had to grab hold of his shoulders.

"Oh my god. You weren't kidding." His thumb swept back and forth, up and down, and it didn't take him long to catch onto the pace that made her shudder and moan. Without breaking his rhythm, he slipped his index and middle fingers back and rubbed at her entrance.

"You're so warm," he whispered, sliding his fingers through her wetness. "Does that feel good?"

Gwen nodded. "You can put them in. If you want." She whimpered at the thought of what those long, clever fingers would feel like inside her. He pushed one in achingly slowly, and Gwen found herself shoving her hips down onto his hand.

Peter moaned. "Yeah, keep doing that." He pulled out and pressed two fingers in, then held them there. Gwen rolled her hips, and she felt him sliding back and forth inside her as she rode his hand. He looked painfully hard, and she reached down to wrap her hand around it.

"No no no no. Don't touch me yet." He jerked back from her touch, and she looked up to see him wide-eyed and breathing hard. His lower lip was bright red, and she realized he'd been biting it. She felt a sharp twinge of need and squeezed around his fingers.

"Okay. Not yet." She moved her hips again, tilting them to get his fingers rubbing against her g-spot. She was already close, so when Peter started gasping along with her and jerking his hips, she came with a loud cry buried in his shoulder.

Peter carefully pulled his hand out and pressed feverish kisses to her temple, her ear, anywhere he could reach. Gwen made a fist around him and pulled up and down. She jumped right into fast and steady, since he was already so frustrated. The noises he made were so warm and needy that she felt another throb.

"Sorry if this is gross, but." He lifted his fingers, still sticky from her orgasm, and took them in his mouth. It was enough to make him come all over her hands, moaning loudly around the intrusion. It was the most erotic thing Gwen had ever seen.

"Oh my god." He dropped his hand and slumped back against the headboard. "Oh my god, Gwen. Gwen, oh my god, oh my god." 

He suddenly reached for her, pulling her down beside him and wrapping shaking arms around her chest. She rubbed his back with one hand and his hair with the other. He kept muttering incoherently into her skin, so she held him until his breathing calmed down.

"Sh, it's okay. I'm here, Peter."

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't think it would hit me this hard." He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes. "This is special. You're special. You know I love you, right?"

"Of course." He gave her a nervous smile, and Gwen wondered if he would regret putting his heart in her hands. "I love you too."


	4. Chapter 4

They got better with practice. Gwen learned how to translate six years of dirty thoughts into specific requests, and Peter learned how to last for more than thirty seconds of stimulation. There was a push and pull to what they did, where they both felt free to experiment and communicate and let themselves be vulnerable. So while Peter liked to follow directions, and Gwen preferred to surprise him with new ideas, they were both deliriously happy.

Gwen was surprised by the impact it had on her. It caught her at odd moments, when she was doing homework or brushing her teeth or standing in line at the drug store, and her whole body would flush hot. Several old women commented on the glow of a young girl in love, and she wondered if they knew exactly what was making her smile.

Sex made Gwen frighteningly possessive. Part of her hated how angry she got whenever girls talked dirty about Spider-Man. But when she realized that none of them knew the taste of his come, the way he jumped when she touched his hipbones, the face he made when he was undone with pleasure, a different kind of heat threatened to overwhelm her. It chanted _mine, mine, mine_ and made sure her hands never left Peter's body when they were in public.

That was why her heart nearly beat out of her chest when Peter showed up for school wearing a blue checkered scarf. She stared at it all through first period, and when he sat down next to her in study hall, she reached out to play with the fringe.

"Are you going hipster on me, Peter?" She twisted it around her finger, then tugged the edge down a few millimeters. Nothing.

"It's reverse irony. A guy with no fashion sense pretending to be a guy with too much fashion sense pretending to have no fashion sense." He was fidgety, and it got worse when her fingers strayed closer to his collarbone. She leaned her head on his shoulder and inhaled the smell of him through the fabric.

"It's a good look. Blue suits you." Part of her wanted to rip it off, right here in front of everybody, but Peter Parker didn't wear scarves. Everyone who saw him knew he was marked. Gwen bit her lip.

"I'm thinking of making it a wardrobe staple. You don't think the color's too obvious, do you?" He thought it was funny, the bastard. Gwen snuggled closer and stroked his chest, making sure to catch his nipple. It was already stiff, and she didn't know whether to laugh or climb into his lap.

"That's a no, then?" He still sounded amused, but his heart was racing under her hand. This was utterly ridiculous--they'd come three times each last night, and Gwen had one more during her morning shower--but Peter was warm and squirming and _claimed,_ he was hers and she wanted to _take_ him over the table like she had last night.

"I think we need some space. At least until you can take that scarf off." Her voice only shook a little, and Peter barely chuckled when she untangled herself and leaned as far away from him as the plastic folding chair allowed.

"Okay, Miss Antsy-Pants." He got up and stood watching her for a moment. "I'm coming over after school. There's something we need to talk about." 

Such terrifying words should not have come with a shit-eating grin. Gwen shooed him away so she could work on math homework, civics homework, anything that would make the pounding of her blood calm down. After school felt like forever, but they were both exceptionally patient.


	5. Chapter 5

Gwen got a Facebook message at half past eleven, long after she'd finished her homework.

_Peter Parker  
omg so sorry, i blew off some chores and aunt may put me under house arrest_

_Peter Parker  
so we'll have to have this super embarrassing conversation over facebook where you can't see me blush_

_Peter Parker  
so sad_

_Peter Parker  
hey, turn off the netflix and talk to meee_

So it was sex-related. Gwen looked up to make sure her door was locked, then settled into her chair with a smile creeping over her face.

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
I'm here. Stop whining._

_Peter Parker  
Yes, Ma'am._

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
So the scary intern voice works over the internet. Good to know._

_Peter Parker  
the scary intern voice always works on me_

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
So, how did you want to embarrass yourself tonight?_

_Peter Parker  
um_

_Peter Parker  
hm_

_Peter Parker  
okay, you've seen my skeezy cumface, i really shouldn't be embarrassed about this_

_Peter Parker  
fuck it_

_Peter Parker  
what do you think of bdsm?_

It wasn't the most shocking thing he could have said. If she thought about it, there were plenty of red flags that he didn't hide very well. But he was Peter, he was _Spider-Man,_ and the thought of him wanting to be mistreated made Gwen's chest painfully tight.

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
Like corsets and whips and "lick my boots, slave"?_

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
I don't understand why anyone would want to be treated like that. But people don't understand why I like Coldplay, so._

_Peter Parker  
maybe they want to be treated like that because being in control scares them._

Something shifted inside her, and the pieces lined up to make a picture she understood too well. She ached to hold him, to be the place where he could be safe from it all, and the cold glow of her laptop frustrated her to the point of tears.

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
I can't hurt you, Peter. Physically or emotionally._

_Peter Parker  
you seem fine with teasing me until i'm blue in the face_

_Peter Parker  
but seriously, it's not about hurting me. i mean, i have as many nasty fetishes as the next guy, but i'm more interested in the d/s part of it._

_Peter Parker  
at least, i am with you._

Gwen's chest hurt. With sex, they could at least pretend it was just a fun release of tension. This thing, whatever it was, couldn't be anything other than Peter needing her in the deepest, most intimate way she could imagine.

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
What would you want?_

_Peter Parker  
uh. i kind of made a list._

She checked her email. The list was extensive, and Gwen took a minute to read through it. There were some parenthetical comments--a heart after playing nurse, three exclamation points after face-sitting--but mostly it was a parade of sinful images that had her dripping wet by the end.

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
Well, I'm glad to see bathroom functions in the "no" column._

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
I could work with this. Even the foot one._

_Peter Parker  
oh fuck, i can't believe i kept that on there_

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
Wear high heels for a day, and you will never underestimate the power of a good foot-rub._

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
Speaking of, why is cross-dressing under "maybe"?_

_Peter Parker  
uh, maybes are mostly stuff that scares me._

_Peter Parker  
but the good kind of scary. the sexy kind._

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
There's a sexy kind?_

_Peter Parker  
oh my god you're adorable_

_Peter Parker  
does this mean we're really doing it?_

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
If I get to put you in time-out for skipping meals, I'm all in._

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
Or does that count as "pretending to be a baby/little kid"?_

_Peter Parker  
you know what tells me you'd be an awesome dom, gwen?_

_Gwendolyn Stacy  
The scary intern voice?_

_Peter Parker  
through this whole conversation, i never once said i wanted to be the sub._

The comment stayed with her long into the night, as she wrung out two desperate orgasms and tried to contemplate having that much power over another person. Her conscience fought with her libido until she dropped into a fitful sleep and dreamed of Spider-Man kneeling at her feet.


	6. Chapter 6

Gwen spent the weekend making plans. It took some very intimidating Google searches, but eventually she began to piece together an image of a relationship that wasn’t built around fear and latex. Medieval torture dungeons were still terrifying, but she felt a little thrill when she realized that certain poses could be achieved rather simply with the use of webbing.

Underneath all the trappings, the mindset was startlingly familiar. Gwen remembered her first boyfriend covering her eyes at a scary movie, then rubbing her back in the living room as she waited for her father to come home. Gwen never liked being coddled, but she yearned for a relationship that was the safe harbor in a terrifying world. Now she knew there wasn’t a contradiction between the two.

She dressed for school on Monday in grey thigh-highs, chunky mary janes, and a deep blue shirtdress she found in the back of her closet. The color was so perfect that she worried about giving him away, but the Spider-Man shirts were mostly red anyway. The only person who would make the connection was Spidey himself.

When he saw her approaching, his eyes went straight down. It didn’t surprise her that he liked her legs--he’d been staring at them regularly since freshman year--but there was that word, _worship._ Not even the foot fetish unsettled and intoxicated her as much as those two syllables. The idea of someone showing that devotion not because she got perfect grades or always made it home by curfew, but because of all the filthy wrong amazing things she and Peter did to each other, put a lightness in Gwen’s step that she didn’t know what to do with.

They didn’t talk about it until they were back at Peter’s house. His aunt was at work until seven, so they had a few good hours to themselves. Instead of jumping each other the second the door closed, they walked nervously up the stairs, playing with each other’s fingers.

“Um, what do you want for a safeword?” 

“Radium.” The answer was almost instant, and Gwen couldn’t help but giggle.

“Wow, you really have been thinking about this.”

“Only since I learned what porn was.” They went into Peter’s room and shut the door. Despite all of her preparation, now that she was in the moment, Gwen had no idea how to start.

“I don’t know what other safety measures we need.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re whipping me bloody or hanging me upside down for three hours.”

“I kept reading that the most important thing is negotiation.” She had his list, but she hadn’t run any of her ideas by him. Was that against the rules? She couldn’t imagine anyone being traumatized by unexpected leg worship, but she couldn’t imagine why he would need a safeword for it either, and that was clearly a major safety issue. Her breath felt tight when she tried to recall the guidelines she’d read on one website and couldn’t remember more than two of them.

“Gwen, relax. It’s okay.” He grabbed her arms and rubbed them up and down. “As long as you take things from the yes column, consider that my consent. If I don’t like anything, I’ll say the safeword.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. But you have to promise me that you’ll say it, even if it only freaks you out a teeny bit. This is something I really, really can’t screw up.”

“But that’s what first times are for, Gwen.” He pulled her into a tight hug. “If you’re not up to this, we don’t have to try it today. I can just stick my hand up your skirt.”

He sounded genuinely concerned. Gwen pulled back, took a deep breath, and drank in the sight of the most beautiful boy in the world.

“Do you want rules, or should I just give you orders?”

He was giving her that heavy look again, and Gwen felt a twinge of arousal fight through the panic. “Rules are nice. They don’t have to be anything huge, just stuff I can do so I remember who’s in charge.” He blushed, looking up at her from under thick eyelashes, and Gwen let out a little gasp.

“Okay. I can do this.” She reached out and slipped his jacket off his shoulders. “Rule one: you’re not allowed to be wearing more clothing than me. No, you have to be wearing _less._ ” Peter grinned and kicked off his shoes, then his socks. Shirt, jeans, and underwear put him behind Gwen’s dress, bra, panties, stockings and shoes. In bare feet, he was just short enough for her to lean over and kiss him straight on.

“Rule two: you aren’t allowed on the bed.” Peter whimpered against her mouth. She walked over to the bed and sat down, pulling him lightly by the wrists. His fists clenched and unclenched, and she could already feel the path they would take across her body. She craved his hands too much to forbid him from touching her. An alternative presented itself in the way he shifted his hips around, obviously tenting the front of his jeans.

“Rule three: you can’t touch yourself unless I give you permission.” Her voice wavered, and it clearly took everything he had not to dive into her lap. She hooked a foot around the back of his calf. “Now, be a good boy and take my shoes off. My feet are killing me.”

He sank to his knees like he was born for it. The implications of that thought made Gwen shiver, but she tried to focus on the image in front of her. His fingers were careful as they worked the buckles free. It excited her to realize that he had no experience with women’s shoes, but struggled with hers anyway just because she told him to. She quirked her ankle to drag the heel across his thigh, and he shut his eyes and gasped.

“At the risk of sounding incredibly gay, these are really cute shoes.” He pulled the strap free and took her foot in his hands, tracing the smooth surface with his fingertips. There was something strange in his expression, like her foot in $30 heels was a relic he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch. Gwen shifted on the bed.

“They are cute, but they’re murder on my arches. I get this shooting pain if I wear them for too long.” He looked up at her, then raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. Um, you can rub my feet when you’re done.” Peter smiled. Gwen felt like a hopeless novice, but the look of devilish anticipation on Peter’s face made up for it. He made quicker work of the second shoe, then pulled both of her feet into his lap. He dug his thumbs into the sore flesh above her heel and rubbed all the way up her arch. It felt so good that Gwen squeaked, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Peter laughed.

“It’s good, right?” He rubbed the spot under the ball of her foot, hard enough to make her toes curl. “Don’t worry, I won’t start licking them. But you have to admit it feels pretty insane.”

Gwen nodded. It did feel strangely erogenous, making heat gather in her belly and pulse between her legs. Peter was clearly enjoying her reaction, but his hands didn’t stray too much, rubbing back and forth along her arches until her knees shook. It took her a moment to remember that he was waiting for her next command.

Gwen pulled her feet back with a light tug. When he looked up at her, she placed her feet on his thighs. “You put ‘leg worship’ on your list. Have you thought about it a lot?”

He nodded. He didn’t look down, even as her toes played with the hem of his shirt.

“Show me what you think about.”

He closed his fingers around her ankles. They slid up the back of her calves, smooth over the fabric of her stockings. She gasped when his fingers hit the backs of her knees, and he rubbed there until she was clutching at the blankets.

She felt him press at the back of her left leg. She extended it, and he took hold of her foot. He kissed the inside of her ankle, his lips tracing the delicate bones with fragile reverence.

Peter worked slowly up her leg, his warm lips and hot breath teasing her through the fabric. When he got to her knee, he ducked his head to mouth at the spot his fingers found earlier. She wrapped her other leg over his shoulder, rubbing her heel up and down his back.

“Use your tongue. They’re machine washable.” She felt him smirk, and then wet heat was prodding at the spot until she squirmed. She slid one hand through his hair. He angled her leg toward him and sucked, and she pulled his hair so hard he moaned and rubbed his other wrist against the bulge in his jeans. The sight was so hot that Gwen forgot he was breaking the rules until he pulled away, staring sheepishly down at his lap.

“I’m sorry, Gwen. It just feels so good when you pull my hair.” His eyes darted up at her before going back down. The remorse was clearly an act, given how hot the gesture was in the first place and the way he was obviously trying to wind her up with his words. Well, it was working.

“It’s okay. I won’t punish you for your first mistake.” She reached out to pet his hair. There was something she wanted him to do, so badly it shook through her bones and made her hands tremble, but they hadn’t done it before and she didn’t want to cross any lines. She realized what a stupid concern that was when he leaned his head against her right knee and nuzzled it, like a cat rubbing against its owner.

“I want your mouth on my cunt.”

She waited for the safeword, for him to gasp in shock at her language, for the BDSM police to swoop in and arrest her for demanding something so new when he was still raw from messing up. Instead, he reached under her skirt and dragged her panties down over her knees.

“Can I make a request, Gwen?” His voice was so low and husky she nearly whimpered.

“Go ahead.”

“Can you leave the stockings on?”

There was no holding back after that. Gwen pulled her skirt up and inched toward the edge of the bed, spreading her legs so wide the smell of her arousal filled the air. “As long as you take your shirt off first.”

Everything between her legs was throbbing, and Peter’s breath against her as he leaned in was enough to make her whine. She settled her legs across his back and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet and so good it almost hurt. He was sloppy and arrhythmic, but the way he licked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted, little groans buzzing out through his lips, had her close to coming in what felt like seconds. He pulled back when he felt her begin to clench.

“If I make you come, will you let me touch myself?”

Gwen didn’t want it to be over yet, but she was so desperate for his mouth that she nodded. He shoved his pants down around his knees and stroked up and down a few times. He looked just as red and raw as she felt, and she twinged in sympathy before he fixed his mouth on her clit and sucked. Gwen came with a scream, digging her heels into Peter’s back.

When she pushed his head away from her oversensitive flesh, he licked slowly up the crease of her thighs. He was still hard, but he stroked himself at a lazy pace that meant he was trying to hold off. While her breathing calmed down, he licked closer and closer to her sensitive lips. She was trembling again by the time his tongue gently probed at her vagina.

She gasped as it slipped inside her. It wasn’t as deep as his fingers, obviously, but it squirmed and stretched until she was keening again. He pulled out and licked up the whole length of her, dancing around her clit until she grabbed his hair and yanked. He moaned against her and stroked himself faster. When she came again, she held him down until she was so sore she couldn’t bear to be touched.

Her legs slipped against Peter’s bare skin, and his spine arched beautifully into the sensation. She rubbed them up his back and across his shoulders, planting her feet on his chest. “Lie down. I want to try something.” He stretched back on the carpet, limbs loose and eyes heavy, and watched her trace her feet along the angles of his body. He arched up into her touch, lazily fucking his own fist. She had the feeling that he would drag it out as long as she felt like touching him.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, running her toes across the dip of his hipbones. “I want to see you come, you’re so gorgeous when you lose it.”

Peter writhed and sobbed and jerked his hips against her. Some of it got on Gwen’s stockings, but the fucked-out look on his face was completely worth it.

Gwen pulled her clothes off, then reached for Peter’s hand. He stood on shaky legs and hobbled over to the bed, collapsing next to her with his pants still tangled around his knees. Gwen pulled them off and tossed them on the floor before climbing in and pulling the blankets over them. He slung an arm over her chest and buried his face in her shoulder.

“So, am I a nasty freak?” He kept trying to look up at her, but he couldn’t seem to support his own head. Gwen smiled and scratched the back of his neck.

“If you’re a nasty freak, I’m worse.” She wrapped an arm around his back and tugged him closer. “Peter, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what makes this so beautiful, but it is. I just want to keep you like this forever.”

“I think the citizens of New York might object to that.” He smirked when he said it, but there was an unspoken sadness to the remark. He’d brought the real world into their playhouse, and it stung more than she knew it should.

“We should have nicknames.” She’d come across them during her research, and she liked the element of fantasy it provided. If Gwen and Peter couldn’t escape the real world, at least they could escape Gwen and Peter for a while.

“Ma’am is too cougar-y. How about Miss Stacy?”

Gwen wrinkled her nose. “It makes you sound like my teacher.”

“Okay, you can be Miss…hm.”

“What about just Miss?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Miss, I’ve been bad. I think you need to punish me.” She felt more than saw him break out in a grin. “I like it. But Miss, what are you going to call me?”

She thought about the way he nuzzled her leg, and the boneless grace of his body as he arched under her. “How about Pet?”

“Mm. That’s nice.” He yawned and snuggled into her chest. Gwen rubbed his back as he fell asleep, and the slow rhythm of his breathing eventually dragged her under as well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has pretty intense painplay.

Miss and Pet weren’t a constant part of their sex life. As days turned into weeks, they only played a handful of times, waiting until they were itching with accumulated hunger and the stress of life. Peter always came to her a day or two after hunting, but never the same way twice. Sometimes he wanted to be held down and ridden hard, sometimes he wanted to be brought to orgasm again and again until he couldn’t speak, and sometimes he wanted to be praised and petted for doing a good job pleasing her. Gwen learned to read his body language and be as harsh or gentle as he needed.

Blue became their signal. At first Peter was the only one who gave it, but after being chewed out _again_ for not having time to pick her brothers up, Gwen started using it too. She went to Chinatown and bought a blue scarf at every vender she walked passed, then used them all to tie Peter to his headboard. The pink of his flushed skin, darker at his wrists where he rubbed against the restraints, was such a lovely contrast against the blue that she was tempted to reach for his camera.

His thighs fell open when she dragged her teeth lightly over the ridge of the head. He was so shameless and desperate that Gwen pushed three fingers into herself with no trouble. “You ever notice that you go for darker blue when you’re feeling mean?”

Gwen sat up, and Peter’s hips jerked toward her. His head turned from side to side, like the blindfold disoriented him so much that he couldn’t remember where her mouth was five seconds ago. Gwen moaned and tightened around her hand.

“Did I give you permission to talk, Pet?”

He shook his head. Peter had the remorseful puppy look down to an art form, even with his eyes covered. She resisted the urge to scratch his head.

“I have one more bandana. If I hear that dirty mouth again, I’ll have to gag you with it.”

Peter whimpered. “Come on, it won’t suck itself.”

The words themselves came out shaky, but when he heard her growl he broke out in a huge grin. He opened his mouth as soon as he felt the fabric touch his lips, bowing his head to let her tie it in back.

“Won’t suck itself? I’ll suck you so hard you go numb.” She pulled the knot extra tight, and Peter gave a strangled moan. His mouth was stretched painfully tight around the gag, and he began to drool almost instantly. They both came embarrassingly fast.

Peter crawled up behind her while she was pulling her jeans back on and slung his arms over her shoulders. “Gwen, look. See what I’ve got?” There were dark lines on his wrists, too raw-looking to be the imprint of the scarves. She ran her finger along one of the marks and felt him shiver against her back.

“You do wiggle a lot when I tie you up.” She took hold of his arm and gave them a closer look. “These look pretty rough. Should you put something on them?”

“Nah, I get friction burns all the time. They’ll fade in a few days.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Then you’ll just have to give me new ones.”

His mouth opened against her shoulder. It was exciting to see evidence of their games on his body, and to know that he would think about it every time his sleeves rubbed against the marks. It was even more exciting to hear his breath catch when she touched them, but she thought about the implications of that and went back to pulling on her pants.

“Peter, am I mean?”

He purred against her neck. “Yeah, and it’s super hot. We should play more when you’re cranky.” He felt her tense up and started rubbing her back. “It doesn’t bother me, Gwen. I’ve got a high pain tolerance. And it makes you less likely to punch someone, which is a bonus.”

She shrugged out of his grasp and reached for her shirt. “I just don’t like hurting you. You’ve been hurt enough.”

“So don’t think of it like that. Think of how good it makes me feel.” He wrapped his arms around her stomach. “I trust you to be rough with me because I know you love me and I know you’ll stop if I ask you to.”

Gwen leaned against his chest. “I’m not some tyrant who works out my anger by smacking people around. Aren’t good doms supposed to have their emotions under control?”

“I’m pretty sure good doms want their subs to be happy. And I’m a very dirty boy, so being your stress ball makes me happy in the pants department.”

Gwen let the subject go, because she did want Peter to be happy (and because the blissed-out smile he gave her when she manhandled him was disturbingly hot). But there was a line between punishing him because he wanted rules and punishing him because he was pretty when he whined. Crossing that line made Gwen very uncomfortable, so naturally it occupied her every waking thought.

Peter really did like it rough, and he talked a lot about what a bad boy he was, but Gwen noticed the way he lit up when she praised him. What was the difference between a good day and a naughty day? She felt guilty enough for enjoying the roughness. Getting hot when he misbehaved, and even hotter when it gave her an excuse to punish him, was a conflicted mess that even a newbie like Gwen could tell wasn’t kosher. Was punishment only supposed to be pretend bad, or was it supposed to discourage him from messing up again? What did his eager confessions of naughty behavior say about his guilt issues?

Avoidance proved impossible when she heard him knock on her window at half past one in the morning. One side of his face was bashed up and his costume was shredded in several places. He swayed a bit on his feet, and Gwen reached out to steady him.

“Before you ask, no concussion. Might’ve lost a bit of blood, but you should see the other guy.” Gwen believed him about the concussion, having bullied him to the hospital on two previous occasions, but her heart jumped at the phrase “blood loss.”

“Sit down, Peter. I’ll go get the first aid kit.” He took a shaky step forward and planted his hands on the back of her chair, trapping her between his arms. She noticed how hard he was breathing and the nervous jerkiness to his movements. Close up, his eyes were raw and red.

“I lost him, Gwen. He pushed some college kid off the overpass and bolted while I jumped after her. She’s getting stitched up at the hospital, and he’s fuck only knows where, and I’m this close to clawing my fucking skin off.” His voice cracked, and he looked down at Gwen’s lap. “I need--I need you, I need to be touched, I need _something_ so I don’t keep going over and over it until my brain bleeds.”

He rocked from one foot to the other, and Gwen was afraid he would scream or throw something and alert her mother.

“Peter, what’s wrong with your arm?”

He stilled, clenching the back of the chair. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“You keep rocking back and forth, but you’re babying your right arm. And you flinch whenever you do put pressure on it.” She reached out and grabbed his waist, rubbing her thumbs over his hipbones. “Let me look at it. I want to take care of you.”

“I just told you, it’s nothing. I hurt my wrists all the time skateboarding. It’ll be fine by the end of the week.” His voice was harsh and he refused to meet her eyes. He certainly wasn’t acting like he wanted to be her pet.

“Okay, then. Suit off so I can clean you up. I don’t want you bleeding all over my sheets.” He smiled at that, and he let her help ease the suit down over his scraped ribs. He winced when he yanked the sleeve down his right arm. His wrist was a little swollen and mottled with bruises.

“Oh my god. Peter, that looks broken. You need to go to the doctor tomorrow.” Bare-chested, about thirty percent of him was bruised or bloody. Gwen’s stomach twisted with something icy when she looked at them.

“I’ve landed on my wrist before, and it always goes away a couple days later.”

“The end of the week is at least five days.”

“For god’s sake, can we forget about the first aid?” He pulled away from her. “I need you to fuck me, okay? Pin me down, ride my face, do anything you want, just get his stupid fucking voice out of my head. I’ll worry about my wrist tomorrow.”

“Except you won’t. You’ll ignore it like you always do, and then it’ll heal funny and you won’t be able to grip a pencil anymore, let alone swing one-handed from a cable. You can’t just sit on a broken wrist, Peter.”

“No, but you can.” For such a sweetheart, he could be incredibly punchable when the mood struck him. She fought the urge to shake him.

“And what happens to Spider-Man? How will he protect the city if Peter Parker’s too much of a baby to go to the fucking doctor?”

“What I do with my body outside of the bedroom is none of your business, _Gwen._ ” Due to their use of personas, her name was practically another safeword. They’d argued before, but she’d never seen him this aggressively defiant. Gwen blinked back tears.

“And what if it was? What if I said you weren’t allowed to come until you got your wrist checked out? Would you take care of yourself if it was some kind of kinky game?”

She’d meant to wound him, to call him out for focusing on sex at the expense of his health, and Peter definitely felt it. His eyes widened and he went still, as if he couldn’t tell how to take her remark.

“You couldn’t stop me from going home and jerking off.” He sounded as angry as before, but Gwen somehow heard it as a question.

“With your dominant wrist out of commission? I’d like to see you try.”

“I could hump a pillow.” The image was inconveniently hot, but Gwen pushed it to the back of her mind. She looked up at Peter’s bloody face towering above her, and eventually he met her eyes.

“Would you really do it, Peter? If I asked you not to?”

That was the crucial difference, because Miss didn’t ask, she demanded. But here she was, looking up at her anxious wreck of a boyfriend and asking him to give her control over what he did alone in his bedroom. Her stomach fluttered when he sank gingerly to his knees.

“If you ask me not to, I won’t.” He looked up at her with such tenderness, such _trust,_ that Gwen leaned over and kissed him hungrily. Her hands clenched desperately in his hair, and she wanted to bury herself in the warmth of his skin.

“Peter, go sit on the bed. I’m going to let you come tonight because you’re being such a good boy.” She stroked his neck and he shivered, the tight lines of anger already fading from his face. “Just let me get a brace for your wrist, okay?”

He nodded. When she came back, he was naked and poking at the constellation of bruises on his torso. Gwen sat next to him and reached for his right arm.

“Ugh, stop doing that. I can’t even look at you.” She eased the brace over his hand. He whimpered when it slid over the bones of his wrist, and she tried to ignore how much it sounded like other noises he made.

“What you said. About me sitting on your bad wrist.” Gwen felt herself blush, and she refused to look Peter in the face. “Would you really--I mean, you were just riling me up, right? You wouldn’t actually enjoy that.”

Gwen looked up to see a horribly familiar deer-in-headlights expression on his face. “Oh my god. How much of a masochist _are_ you?”

“Um.” He watched her hands as they fastened the Velcro, only glancing up to see if she was still looking at him. It was such a Pet thing that Gwen wriggled on the bed. “It’s your hard limit. The first thing you ever said was that you can’t hurt me. I didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up.” He was halfway into the role, all big eyes and nervous lip-biting. They weren’t in deep enough to prevent a serious conversation, but the play comforted her nerves a little. She took Peter’s wrist gently in both hands.

“I didn’t hurt you. Some thieving, murdering asshole did this to you.” She ran her fingers lightly along the edge of the brace, and he gasped in anticipation, swelling to fully hard. “He hurt you, and I’m going to make it better.”

She kissed him, easing him onto his back. Gwen kicked off her sweatpants and knelt over Peter’s hips, the damp crotch of her underwear sliding against him. She leaned forward and planted her hands on either side of his shoulders, the front of her t-shirt falling onto his injured ribs. He hissed and drove his hips against her.

“Put your hands up by your head. That wrist should be elevated anyway.” He worked his arms up under hers, and then he was laid out beneath her, languid and bright-eyed. She rocked up and down with quick jerks of her hips, and it rubbed everything so good she bit down a moan.

She leaned on one arm so she could stroke his hair back. Her fingers hovered at his temple, next to the bruises that painted the side of his face. They were a deep, fresh purple, and looking at them made Gwen’s stomach flip. It was like watching a horror movie--she knew she wanted to cover her eyes, but she couldn’t look away.

Peter saw where her gaze was. “I haven’t seen a mirror all night. Do you think you could show me?”

She brushed her fingers across his cheekbone. Peter watched her, more still than she’d ever seen him. The only sound he made was a sharp inhalation when she rubbed against the darkest spot. It looked sickening, his skin stained almost black, but Gwen could only see the breathless anticipation written all over his face. She pressed him a little harder, and he choked back a sob without breaking eye contact.

“Oh god, Peter, you’re beautiful. Do you want me to touch your wrist now?” He nodded, nearly in tears again from frustration and overstimulation. Gwen murmured soft, soothing nonsense against his cheek as she raised her hand and laid it over the wrist brace. His breathing was rapid and shallow under her.

“Tell me what your safeword is.”

“Radium.” His voice was shaky and weak, but his response was quick. She applied very light pressure, balancing her weight carefully on her other elbow. Peter whined and jerked his hips under her.

“Shh. I’ve got you. Just breathe.” She started grinding faster, throbbing hard with every sound he made. He seemed to like just having her grip his wrist, and she didn’t want to risk damaging anything with a tighter hold. She pressed a soft kiss to his bruised cheek, and he came with a violent shudder, moaning her name over and over again. Gwen reached between her legs and worked herself off with her face buried in his neck, the smell of him coming up from between their bodies.

As soon as she finished, Gwen peeled off her panties and tossed them in her hamper. She pulled on a fresh pair and used her shirt to wipe the mess off Peter’s stomach. He lay motionless as she cleaned him up, the harshness of his breathing the only proof that he hadn’t dropped from exhaustion. She grabbed a clean shirt and snuck out of the room for some ice and a towel. Peter was still out of it when she returned, and he didn’t move when she propped the ice up against his wrist.

“Still with us, sleepyhead?”

“Mm.” He didn’t open his eyes, but his brows were furrowed. Gwen crawled over him and curled against his less damaged side. He rolled toward her and wrapped his good arm around her back.

“Gwen, I feel really weird.”

Her stomach dropped. “Could it be the blood loss? Or is it just overexertion?”

“Not body weird. Head weird.” Gwen leaned up on her elbow. He didn’t look upset, just exhausted.

“You should stay. I can wake you up in time to get home before your Aunt notices you’re gone. What time do you usually get up on Saturdays?”

He mumbled something incoherent. “I’ll try to get you up by nine. Just let me lock the door so we don’t have any surprise visitors.” She moved to get up, but Peter’s arm tightened around her.

“No, don’t go. I love you.” He wrapped his leg around her hips. When she finally managed to unwind his limbs, he whined and grabbed a fistful of her shirt. She propped her desk chair under the doorknob and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up to their chins.

“It’s okay, Peter. I’m here. He had his face buried in her hair, and he kept murmuring her name until he was too tired to speak. Gwen rubbed his back and let him wind himself around her, occasionally checking on the position of his wrist. She whispered comforting nothings long after he wasn’t awake to hear her.


	8. Chapter 8

Gwen woke up at 10:40. Peter was still dead to the world, so she threw the covers over his head, put on a pair of shorts, and snuck into the kitchen. Her mother looked up from the sink when she came in.

“Good morning, honey. I made plenty of coffee.” Gwen filled a mug, then grabbed milk and an orange from the fridge. She couldn’t remember whether Peter took sugar in his coffee, so she went without. She reached around her mother to grab the last remaining blueberry muffin.

“Did you sleep okay? I thought I heard somebody moving around in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”

Gwen froze. “Um. No, I didn’t really sleep well. I think I have a cold or something.”

She tried to pitch her voice lower. Her mother just looked at her with concern. “Well, if there’s anything I can do, let me know. I was going to take the boys to a movie, so you’ll get some quiet time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She gave her a quick smile and returned to her bedroom. As soon as the latch clicked, Peter sat up and stretched, his back popping loudly. Gwen shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. 

She sat on the bed and handed him the coffee. She held her hand to her ear and mouthed _phone?_ Peter leaned over and whispered, “Aunt May has some library thing on Saturday mornings. I’m never up when she leaves and she won’t be back until three.”

He looked down at Gwen’s hands. She held out the muffin and the orange, and gave him a look when he reached for the muffin. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh, but took the orange. He stared at it for a while before sheepishly handing it back to Gwen, who peeled it.

They ate in silence, Gwen lifting orange slices to Peter’s mouth, until she heard the apartment door slam shut. He carefully bit the last piece from her fingers.

“I’ll be right back. I need to wash my hands.” Peter grabbed her wrist. When she didn’t move, he began licking the juice from her hand. He took three of her fingers in his mouth and sucked, and laughed when it made her whimper.

“Looks like another item for the yes column.”

“Finger sucking, or your oral fixation?”

“How about both?” She reached for a tissue to wipe the saliva off her hand. Peter winced and stretched out his arm when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“Let’s sit in the kitchen. I need coffee and you need painkillers.”

She carefully dressed him in an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of track pants that rested eight inches above his ankles (“If Mom comes home, you ripped your jeans when you fell off the skateboard”). Outside the warm, sleepy haven of her bedroom, he was moving way too stiffly. She fetched a bottle of Advil and shook two pills into his hand. He swallowed both at once with a swig of coffee.

“How does it feel?” She couldn’t see the bruises or swelling with the brace on, but he seemed more uncomfortable the longer he was awake.

“It really fucking hurts.” He smiled awkwardly at her. “Gwen, I’m sorry for being a bitch last night. I was in a bad place, but I should’ve listened to you.”

“It’s okay. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re upset.” She reached across the counter for his good hand. “And this…thing. It’s our playhouse, and it’s special and private, but there’s a line where it ends and the real world begins. You shouldn’t feel like you have to do what I say when we’re outside the playhouse.”

“I shouldn’t?” His eyes looked straight into hers, and his expression was so unguarded that it made Gwen’s stomach flutter. “I would get down on my knees and kiss your feet right in front of your locker, if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. I would show up to school covered in hickeys if you asked me to. I’d probably show up to school in a miniskirt, if you asked nicely enough.”

He rubbed the back of her wrist with his thumb. Gwen’s chest felt tight, and she blinked back tears even as objections ran through her head.

“You’re a superhero, Peter. You can’t belong to me all the time because you belong to the city. I’m happy to take that weight off you whenever you need it, but I can’t just _own_ you. It’s not right and it’s not healthy, you need to keep your autonomy outside of the--”

“Gwen. Look at me. Do you think it’s bad for me to be owned, or for you to own me?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. They’re the same thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Gwen, is this top guilt?”

She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She was swimming in worries, and she felt bad dumping them on Peter when he was injured and exhausted, but there was no one else she could go to. 

“I’ve never, ever wanted to hurt somebody before last night. I know you wanted it, and I know it helped you come down from a tough place, but I _grabbed your broken wrist_ and it made me wet. It made me want to hold _tighter_. Not just to make you moan, but because I wanted you to feel it.”

To Peter’s credit, his rough breathing was the only sign that he was turned on by her comment. He pushed his empty coffee mug across the counter until it knocked into hers. “You’re not bad. It’s not sick. It’s making me so hard I’m going to bust through your pants, but that’s not why I’m okay with it.” He leaned over the counter and tucked her hair behind her ear, flinching when it jostled his wrist. “Humans have taken something as basic as reproduction and turned it into this complex, twisted, weird, wonderful thing that drives us all crazy. I jumped off an overpass and landed on my wrist, and now we’re both squirming in our seats thinking about it. We’ve come a long way from monkeys fucking in a field.”

“I know. The stupid thing is, I don’t think you’re sick for liking pain. I worry that it impairs your self-preservation skills, which are impaired enough as it is, but it doesn’t make you a disgusting person.”

“Liking your own pain is very different from liking somebody else’s. But you can hurt people without making them suffer, if that makes any sense.”

“I think so.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Peter, I don’t know how much of this is Miss and how much of it’s me. It’s easy for me to control you when it’s just a game, and you go back to being your smartass self once it’s over.” 

“And that’s why you lose your shit when I bring the smartass into the bedroom.”

“You’re so cute when you’re smarter than me.” She wound their fingers together, and her hand felt small inside his. “I don’t know if this can be an all-the-time thing. I’m so scared of hurting you. And not in the sexy way.”

“You’re scared of damaging me.” He let go of her hand to grab his mug. “I don’t know about you, but I need more coffee. Do you want some?”

“Peter, sit down. You need to rest.” She reached for the mug, but he stood up and dangled it above her head. She pouted, which made him giggle.

“Please, Gwen. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I really like serving you.” She watched him painstakingly pour out two cups of coffee one-handed. It struck her how calm and focused he was, and she was reminded of the way he looked when he was doing homework or running science experiments.

“You’re a goddamn genius. How can you look like you’ve reached enlightenment from pouring coffee?”

“It’s all about context.” 

He placed her mug in front of her, and she took a sip. “Peter, this is perfect. My mom always drowns it in milk. You should make my coffee every morning.”

“Do you want me to?”

It was such a little thing, and he’d asked nicely. “Would I have to punish you if you got it wrong?”

He smirked. “If you do, I’ll have incentive to get it wrong. You don’t want that.”

“Not if your punishment is no orgasms.” He ran his fingers through his hair, bringing it to an even higher state of gravity defiance.

“People do that, you know. Suck the sub off, get them to the brink and then pull back, again and again and again until they’re so desperate to come it’s a kind of torture. Some doms drag it on for days, and when they finally let them come it feels like dying. Supposedly.”

Gwen shivered. It wasn’t on his list, so she suspected he’d gotten the idea from someone else. “When Parker Manor gets its own Spider Cave, I know the first thing we’re doing in it.”

“Well, it takes a sadist to tease somebody like that.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You know that you can call safeword on any of this, right? You should never agree to something that makes you uncomfortable just to make me happy.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Bring me coffee every morning, exactly the way you just made it. If you forget it, and you have a good enough excuse, I’ll let it go. If you mess it up…” Gwen smiled wickedly. “My mom bought me underwear that was a couple sizes too big. If you screw up, you have to wear them to school.”

Peter’s eyebrows went way up. “Hm. Will I receive the same punishment if I masturbate before I get my wrist checked out?”

“Yes. If you think it’s unpleasant enough.”

“If I have to do it in front of Flash and his cronies, then fuck yes.” He wasn’t twitchy and nervous anymore, and he’d left his wrist alone for the better part of the conversation. Gwen reached over and tugged on the front of his sweatshirt.

“Come on, let’s get you back in your suit. You look ridiculous.”


	9. Chapter 9

Peter had a cast put on that afternoon, according to the heavily misspelled text he sent Gwen. He still skateboarded to school on Monday, swimming in an oversized sweatshirt and carrying a thermos in his left hand.

“Peter!” He smiled at her when she called his name, flipping the board up and catching it under his right arm. Gwen nearly stopped breathing. 

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t ride a skateboard with no free hands. You could dump boiling hot coffee all over yourself.”

“Good morning to you too.” He kissed her, his mouth a little sweet from his breakfast cereal. The thermos was still warm from his hand when he pressed it into hers. “Made exactly as you ordered. Had to wake up twenty minutes early to do it, but then it took me an extra fifteen to get dressed so I rushed it a bit. Oh, and I didn’t have time to shave, so sorry about the scruff.”

“Don’t be. You look like a sexy pirate.” She took a sip. “God, this is amazing. But don’t get me off topic. What if you fell off your board? I’d hate to think what would happen if you landed on your wrist again.”

Peter looked down and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry, Gwen. Do you want me to stay off the skateboard until it heals?”

That he would even offer to give it up made something warm swell in her chest. “No, just put the coffee in your bag or something. I have a spill-proof thermos I can lend you.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks. I’m really glad you like it.” He twined his fingers through hers as she pushed the doors open. “Oh, I watched a really good movie on Saturday. Remind me to tell you about it later.”

“What kind of movie?”

“Doesn’t matter. I just wanted to reward myself, you know? After going to the hospital like a good boy.”

Gwen bit her lip. “A feel good movie, then?”

“I guess, yeah.” They paused while he worked his combination left-handed. Gwen wouldn’t let him carry any of his books, so he wrapped his free arm around her waist.

“And did it make you feel good?” 

“So good you wouldn’t believe it.” His stubble was rough against her ear. Gwen didn’t stop smiling all through first period, and she was still floating a little when she returned to the apartment. Her mother was sitting at the counter with her laptop.

“How was school today, honey?”

“It was okay.” Gwen went to the fridge and poured a glass of iced tea. “Peter fell off his skateboard and broke his wrist, so I had to follow him around all day and open doors and stuff.”

“Oh, that’s awful. He’s lucky to have such a nice girlfriend.”

“Well, I got to spend the whole day with him, so it wasn’t too bad.” She sat on a stool, swiveling it back and forth.

“Gwen, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” She shut her laptop, and Gwen felt a pang of anxiety at the serious look on her mother’s face. “Next weekend is…well, you know what next weekend is.”

It took Gwen a moment to remember, and then she nodded tightly. Next week was her father’s forty-eighth birthday. Or it would have been his forty-eighth, she wasn’t sure what the technical terminology was now.

“I wanted to take you guys to Connecticut, to see Grandma and Grandpa. I thought it might be easier than being here. What do you think?”

Gwen looked down at her iced tea. “I can’t, Mom. I’m taking the SATs next Saturday. But I think the boys would like to go.”

She knew it would be easier for them, with a pool and a yellow lab and Grandma’s cooking to distract them. She knew it would be better to spend the day surrounded by family, but the thought of looking her grandmother in the eyes and knowing that her son was gone because of Gwen’s boyfriend made her throat hurt.

“I forgot all about the SATs.” She leaned over and rubbed Gwen’s arm. “Do you want us to stay here? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s fine. You and the boys should go. I’ll be burnt out from studying anyway.”

“Okay, sweetie.” She opened her laptop back up. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay? You should have your friends over, do something fun. I hate to think of you spending the weekend alone.”

“I’ll see if Gina wants to come over.” This seemed to pacify her mother, so she finished her tea and went to her bedroom. The tears started as soon as she shut the door, and she sank to the floor with her knees pulled against her chest.

When she’d cried herself out, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. 

_apt empty next weekend. dads bday. want to try o denial?_

Her phone buzzed a minute later.

 _god im so sry. want me 2 cum ovr?_

She smiled. 

_i want you to make me forget._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end for chapter warnings.

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. School was torture, with Peter relying on her to take notes and open bottles (she abused the second privilege to decrease his soda consumption). Seeing him helpless made her squirm, but she couldn’t stop worrying about his mental state and how he--not to mention the rest of the city--was functioning without Spider-Man.

Gwen also worried about the lines blurring between playtime and the rest of the time. He still brought her coffee every morning, and if she voiced her disapproval over something he was pretty quick to change his behavior. But she noticed that he was a lot quicker to obey when she used a certain tone of voice. In addition to making lunch uncomfortably erotic, it made Gwen ponder the extent of her power.

She wouldn’t have pondered it nearly as much if she wasn’t sitting over a vast pool of grief, constantly in danger of plunging in. She could sit in class and ride the subway and use the vending machine like a normal person because Peter set her blood on fire, and it burned away the ache in her chest. He was the diver and she was the lifeline. Only by pushing him down herself would she discover how far she could reach to pull him back.

It took a bit of convincing, and Peter was surprised by her sudden flip in preferences. But as Wednesday night bled into Thursday morning, and they tossed ideas back and forth over skype, Gwen found her hard limits eroding. By the time they had everything negotiated, and Gwen was hugging her mother goodbye, the anticipation was so intense she felt light-headed. She changed into a pencil skirt and heels, then made herself tea and sat down in the kitchen to wait. Her hands were shaking by the time she heard the knock.

Gwen stood up, smoothed down the front of her skirt, and walked to the front hall, her heels clicking against the floor. He was on her the second she opened the door, catching her in a tight hug that left her a little breathless.

“I’m so sorry, the train was late. I love you. Are you okay?” He pulled back to look at her, eyes big with concern. Gwen nodded. She felt herself begin to melt under his attention, but she could still follow a script.

“What’s the first rule, Pet?”

“No clothes in the apartment.” He dropped his bag and kicked his shoes off. She helped him with the rest of it, touching him as much as possible.

“Miss, I have to tell you something.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes; he just stared at the floor and shuffled nervously from one foot to the other.

“What is it, Pet? Did you do something bad?” She threaded her fingers in his hair and tugged lightly until he met her eyes. “I won’t be angry, I promise. But you need to tell me what you did.”

His teeth dug into the full curve of his lower lip. “It’s my wrist. I know you told me to leave it alone, but I can’t stop touching it. Last night, I jerked off with it.” His voice caught a little bit, and a blush crept across his face. “I know I’m not supposed to, but it ached so much I couldn’t help myself. I’m really, really sorry.”

Gwen gasped. “Oh, Pet. You could have really hurt yourself. I know it aches, but I thought you had better self-control than that.”

He looked down at the floor. “I know. I’m sorry. I try to be good for you, but it gets really hard sometimes.”

She almost giggled, but she schooled her expression into something more severe. “If it’s too hard, maybe you’re not cut out to be somebody’s pet.”

She hadn’t liked that line when Peter suggested it, but she couldn’t deny that it brought the scene where they wanted it faster. She kept her voice stern and tried not to imagine she was telling her brothers off. Peter dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs, burying his face against her hipbone. 

“No, Miss, please. I love you so much, I promise I’ll be good. I won’t ever touch myself again if you don’t want me to.”

She bent over and stroked his back, his strong arms keeping her from swaying on her heels. “It’s okay. Everyone messes up sometimes.” She tipped his head up to look at her. “But this wasn’t a mistake. You willingly disobeyed me. Which is more important, me or your hard cock?”

“You, Miss.”

“And will you get to come if I don’t want you to?”

He shivered. “No, Miss.”

“I think you need a reminder. Just for today, so you’ll think twice before you mess up again. Do you think that’s a good punishment for what you’ve done?”

He nodded. She ruffled his hair, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes sliding closed. Gwen still wasn’t sure how much this idea turned him on, but she knew he wanted to make her feel good. The soft expression on his face when he looked up at her felt better than Gwen thought possible.

“Come to the bedroom, Pet. I want to play with you.”

Every beat of the scene had been discussed ahead of time. She knew which touches would tease him and which would risk making him come, under what circumstances to restrain him, how much and how long and how many times he could stand being edged without losing it. It was still terrifyingly, thrillingly new to pull her head back the first time and see his hips thrust into empty air, choked whimpers filling the room.

“Shh. Be a good boy and settle down. Are you a good boy?” She dug her nails into Peter’s thighs (one of his suggestions), making sure to maintain eye contact. He looked totally fucked, but his eyes remained focused on hers. Gwen shivered when she saw that his pupils were already blown wide.

“Yes, Miss. I’ll be good.” She counted out twenty shaky breaths, rubbing firm hands up and down his legs, before sinking back into his lap. He lasted a little longer each time, and by the fifth he’d stopped thrusting his hips altogether. His head slumped back against the pillows, legs spread obscenely wide, his left hand clenching and relaxing around a fistful of blankets. Gwen noticed that his right hand was twitching too, and he seemed to push his wrist into the mattress whenever she took him in the back of her throat.

“Pet, what are you doing? I told you to leave your wrist alone.”

He struggled to open his eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry. I’m a good boy, I’ll be good from now on. I promise I’ll be good.”

She sat up, and that had him squirming, letting out little high-pitched whines that almost sounded like he was crying. Gwen was incredibly grateful that he’d brought up possibilities like this.

“Do I need to tie you up, or can you stay still for me?”

“I can stay still, I promise. I’ll be so good, just don’t stop.”

His knuckles were white against the blankets. Peter loved being restrained, but he also loved being good for her. His choice told her that he was feeling more sensitive, both to stimulation and to criticism.

“I know you want to, but I don’t know if you can. Are you focused enough to do what I tell you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes. I’ll do anything. Please.” He was breathing so fast, and there was a dark flush all down his chest. He stared at her like he was drugged, like her face was the only thing he could see, and Gwen felt a sharp thrill before fear brought her back under control.

“When we talked about this, you told me how many times I could tease you. There’s a word you can say if it becomes too much.”

They just stared at each other for a few long seconds. His dark eyes pulled her in, like looking over the edge of a pit to see how deep it went.

“Either say the word, or prove to me that you can sit still while I touch you.”

There was no sound but their breathing. She took him in her hand and gave him a few lazy strokes. Despite the brief pause, he ramped back up almost immediately, whining and biting his lip and rubbing his wrist against the mattress. The motion was rough, rougher than she’d ever seen him be with his injuries, and she could only imagine how much it hurt. Gwen shuddered.

“Pet. Stop that.” She took her hand away, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. “I know it feels good, but I told you not to touch it.”

His bottom lip actually trembled, and Gwen’s stomach twisted. “If you can’t be good, I think we should stop for a little while. Once you’ve calmed down, we can try again. Is that okay?”

He didn’t give her an affirmation, but he didn’t say the safeword either. Gwen took the absence of nonsensical babbling as a good sign, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. He made a little noise when she stepped off the bed.

“No, no, please.” He really sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Gwen turned around, trying to look serious over the churning in her stomach.

“Are you going to say the magic word?”

“Please.” His voice was getting weaker. When he didn’t say anything else, Gwen took a step toward the door and Peter cried out. 

“No, don’t leave me. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I promise. Just don’t leave.”

In the space of a single harsh breath, Gwen felt every bit of her strength crumble to dust. The gnawing anxiety of uncertainty, of knowing something was wrong but being unable to put her finger on it, was replaced by understanding. It soaked like ice water through the cracks in her mind until she was swimming in it, hardly able to stand under the weight of what she’d done.

She started to cry and couldn’t stop, until her head throbbed and her chest hurt and the entire room was a dizzy blur. She took a shaky step and collapsed onto the bed, burying her sobs in her sleeve. 

How had she not seen it? Gwen Stacy, who saw everything and noticed everything and recognized every pattern put in front of her, had missed the fact that _Peter’s parents abandoned him,_ that he must have been so small and scared and confused that he felt like it was his fault. Like if he’d been good enough, quiet enough, obedient enough, they wouldn’t have left him.

And Gwen had denied him touch for the better part of two hours, telling him the whole time that he wasn’t being a good boy.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Peter.” She crawled up the bed until she was crouched over his body, her tears falling onto his neck as she kissed it over and over. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here, Peter, I’m not going anywhere. You’re such a good boy, and I won’t ever leave you. I love you.”

She settled against his side and began jerking him off. It didn’t take long, but he came so hard his whole body shook, toes curling and hands clenching and glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. It was so intense he didn’t even cry out, just gave a choked sob and slumped against the pillows.

Peter was still, so still he could have been unconscious. Gwen laid her hand across his chest so she could feel his heart rate. It helped to focus on counting, and on Peter’s physiological responses. Whatever state his mind was in, his body was alive and healthy.

Gwen curled tighter against him. It felt like something had chewed a hole in her stomach, like everything inside her was slipping out through her fingers. Part of her wanted to walk out, to push Peter away before she could do more damage, but she knew that would make everything worse. Whatever she’d broken, it was her job to fix it. Even if she didn’t know how.

“Why are you crying? I don’t like it when you cry.”

Gwen lifted her head. Peter had managed to crack his eyes open, and he looked up at her with worry and confusion. “Is it because I came? I’m sorry. I tried really hard not to.”

She didn’t understand why he was still in character. But he looked so soft and unguarded that she didn’t want to drag him back to reality. She wriggled up and kissed him, gripping his face with both hands.

“You did so well, baby. You’re my good boy, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

He leaned his head against her shoulder. “I just hate seeing you sad.”

She sat back on her heels. Peter was still heavy-lidded and drowsy from orgasm, but there was something weird in the way he looked at her.

“Peter, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” She began stroking his hair, and his eyes slipped shut again.

“Warm. Heavy. Sleepy.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Weak. Proud. Happy because you said I was good. Scared because I made you cry. Safe because I can’t really move, but you’re strong and beautiful and good and you’ll protect me. Fuzzy and spacey and really fucking weird.”

He bent over to put his head in her lap. With Peter naked and curled in the fetal position, good hand clutching at the fabric of her skirt, Gwen’s chest swelled with so much emotion that she choked on it, petting his hair and dissolving into sobs all over again.

She lost track of the passage of time, but when she heard Peter’s stomach growl, he was lucid enough to chuckle against her leg.

“Come on. Let’s get you onto the couch, and I’ll heat up some soup. Does that sound good?”

“Mm. Soup is good. I like soup.” It took a while, but she got him standing with her quilt wrapped around his shoulders. It was startling to remember how tall he was.

“Gwen, you’re beautiful, but your face is a mess.” He reached out a shaky hand to rub the raw skin under her eyes. “I was supposed to make you feel better. Kinda dropped the ball on that one.”

He looked down bashfully. Gwen wrapped her arms around him, quilt and all.

“This is not your fault. We’ll talk about it later, but you need to remember that. Okay?” She walked over and opened the door. “Feeding you will make me feel better. For now, just let me take care of you.”

Gwen dragged an armchair from the living room into the kitchen. She sat Peter down and wrapped the quilt tighter around him, then opened the cupboard.

“Minestrone or chicken noodle?”

He pulled at a loose thread on the blanket. “Minestrone is healthier.”

He glanced up at her, looking exactly like a kid who wanted the last cookie but didn’t want to look selfish. Gwen swallowed around a tight throat. 

“I’ll make whatever you want. It’s your choice, Peter.”

His eyes went back to the thread. “I want chicken noodle.”

“Chicken noodle it is.” She set the soup on the counter and reached for the can opener. The only sounds were Gwen’s tinkering and the distant hum of traffic. She ruffled his hair or stroked his arm whenever he was in reach, and eventually he stopped looking quite so guilty. He stole the box of crackers and munched on them while she stood at the stove.

“I’m okay, you know.” Gwen turned around to find him licking crumbs from his fingers. “I might act like a kid sometimes, I might even feel like a kid sometimes, but you’re not my mom. A few mistakes aren’t going to screw me up for life.”

“I know that.” She lifted the spoon to her lips. It was still cold, so she turned the burner up. “The problem isn’t…I don’t think you’re a kid.” Everything still felt raw, but she didn’t want to shove it down and risk blowing up in his face. She kept stirring for a reason to avoid looking at him.

“Tell me, Gwen. Please.”

He didn’t sound shaken. He didn’t even sound upset. It was his complete lack of hesitation, like he’d rather hear bad news straight than spend time worrying about it, that made Gwen grip the handle of the oven until her hands shook. She took a deep breath, because if Peter was going to be brave, she couldn’t back down on him.

“I know you’re not a kid. But sometimes, when we play, you turn into somebody else. It’s not just a role--you weren’t _there,_ Peter. You went somewhere else, and I didn’t know how to get you back, and there was this scared little boy looking up at me and I know I’m not strong enough to take care of him. I just can’t.”

She heard the floor creak, and then Peter’s arms were around her waist. Gwen leaned into the warmth at her back and closed her eyes. Her body adjusted to the slow rhythm of his breathing, calming her down a bit.

They stood there until the soup began bubbling over. Peter gripped her waist while she pulled down a big mixing bowl and emptied the pot into it.

“Go get your blanket and sit on the couch. I’m hungry too.”

Gwen was still pretty shaken, but she carried the bowl into the living room and set it on the coffee table. She climbed into Peter’s lap and settled her back against the armrest, then pulled the quilt over both of them. It was still warm from his body, and she leaned her knees against his chest with a sigh.

She carefully lifted the spoon to Peter’s mouth. It felt silly, feeding him like he was a toddler, but she was bursting with the desire to take care of him. She thought of sitting by her sick brothers’ bedsides, and a hot flush made her avoid Peter’s eyes.

“You know, you don’t have to be perfect all the time. That’s not why I want this.”

Gwen lifted the spoon to her own mouth. The broth was hot and salty on her tongue. “You don’t want it now. When you were out of it, I didn’t have a choice. You weren’t coherent enough to remember your safeword. How could I not be perfect?”

The hand holding the bowl shook. She ate another spoonful, swallowing around the lump in her throat. Peter’s hand tightened around her ankle.

“I’m so sorry, Gwen. I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I’d known. You were brilliant, but you shouldn’t have had to be.”

“And how will you know next time? You were a virgin when we got together. You’ve never even penetrated me, for God’s sake. How can we keep playing around with this when we don’t know how it’ll set you off?”

“We’ll be more careful. If it happens again, you can stop the scene. I’ll come down eventually.”

“You didn’t know your own name, let alone the safeword. How the hell are you supposed to come down from that?”

She set the bowl down on the table with a loud thunk. She couldn’t be the cool, responsible dom he seemed to think she was. If this was what BDSM did to him, maybe he couldn’t have any other kind.

“It scares me, Peter. I’m not strong enough for this.”

He was quiet for a moment. “If you can hold me when I need it, suck me when I need it, and smack me when I need it, you’re strong enough.” 

His fingers found her hair and played with it. The tenderness of the gesture made her inexplicably angry, just like the warm smile playing on his lips and the naked adoration written all over his face. He believed in this perfect version of her, he loved and wanted and worshipped this perfect version of her, and it was so clearly _not_ her that Gwen wanted to grab him and shake him until he saw how weak and scared and stupid and useless she was. Before she realized what was happening, Gwen was sobbing again, her face buried in Peter’s shoulder.

“I want my daddy.”

He pulled her close until she was curled in a ball against his chest, surrounded by strong arms and warm skin and the musky smell that stayed on his sheets. With everything changing so fast, Gwen had forgotten how good it felt to be held. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, steady and slow against the broken rhythm of her sobs. She felt small and fragile in his arms, and she wondered if that made her a bad dominant.

“I know. I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest. Peter of all people knew that it was never going to be okay again, but the sound and rhythm of his voice gave her something to cling to through the pain. 

He held her until she’d cried herself out. She was sore and tired and raw and everything hurt, but she knew she was safe. Gwen wondered if this was how Peter felt when he went somewhere else.

“Have you ever heard of subspace?”

She opened her eyes but didn’t lift her head. “I thought it made you totally unresponsive.”

He chuckled. “My good little researcher. It can make you all kinds of things, including super tolerant to pain and unaware of dangerous behavior.”

Gwen ran her finger down his breastbone. “Why didn’t you bring it up before?”

“Because I didn’t know how to get there. I didn’t even know if I could.”

“And now you do?” She sat up a little.

“Well, both times I went all spacey, somebody had been fucking around with my wrist. And today, you edged me at least a dozen times, which I swear is just as fucking painful if not worse.”

“More like four, you big baby.” He was clearly excited about figuring it out, and his eagerness brought a bit of a smile to her face. “So, if I’m going to hurt you, I need to be prepared for this.”

The thought was terrifying, and her breath caught in her throat. Peter rubbed a soothing hand along her calf.

“There are plenty of things we can do that won’t put me there. And if we know ahead of time, we can plot out the scenes so my screwed up inner child doesn’t have any meltdowns.” He leaned back so he could look her in the eyes. “You’re right when you say it’s scary, but I don’t think I can describe how incredible it feels. Everything goes bright and fuzzy around the edges, and there’s nothing except what you’re doing to me.” He blushed, glancing past her shoulder at the wall. “I didn’t think it was possible to love someone that much. It felt like I was going to die from it.”

She felt warmth tingle in her stomach. She sat up and kissed Peter, cradling his face in her hands. It was slow and deep, burning with something softer than lust, driving them closer until she was straddling his lap and plunging into his mouth like she could suck the air from his lungs. 

“We can stop.” His words vibrated against her lips. “Until your mom comes back, it can just be this. No safewords, no pain, no psychological breakdowns. Just this.” He settled his left hand around her waist, and his fingers nearly spanned her ribs. It made her feel pretty and feminine, and she wanted his big hands all over her. 

“But it’s so huge now. It’s part of everything. How can we just shut it off?”

She sat back on his thighs and played with his hair. Peter chewed on his lip, red and swollen from their kissing. He did that a lot, and Gwen suddenly remembered being fifteen and staring at him from across the chemistry lab, wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked.

“Do we have to shut it off?” Gwen gave his hair a tug. “I’m serious. This isn’t about pushing boundaries and being nasty freaks all the time.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. He pressed his mouth where her neck met her shoulder. 

“Let me be good to you.” The words blew across her wet skin, making her shiver. He bit softly at the muscle, then ducked to press wet open kisses along her collarbone. “That’s all this is. All it ever was, honestly. I just want to make you feel good.”

His hand pressed against the small of her back, holding her steady against his swelling erection. Gwen threaded her fingers through his hair. She whimpered when he licked up the side of her neck. 

“So I’m not a bad dom. For liking this.” She pulled back, face burning. Peter furrowed his brows at her, running his hand up the back of her sweater. “I mean, you’re big and strong and I like it. I like how pretty it makes me feel. Is that submissive?”

He wrapped his right arm around her back, the edge of his cast digging into her shoulder. “You are small, and you are pretty.” His fingers nudged awkwardly at the base of her skull, and when she tipped her head, he latched onto her throat again. “You’re so precious to me, Gwen. All I ever wanted was to make you feel it.”

Her fingers dug into his biceps. “Can you show me?”

“How?”

She pulled his head up. “Make love to me.”

He smiled, but she heard his breath catch. “What have we been doing this past month?”

“You know what I mean.” She let her hips press forward, and she knew from the look on his face that he could feel how wet she was. “I want you so bad, Peter. I want everything.”

“Well, in that case.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, so light and chaste it made her whine with frustration. “There are condoms in my backpack.”

“You naughty boy.” She stood up and walked to her bedroom, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor. After all they’d done, there was nothing left to be scared of. She wanted to crawl inside his skin, to hold him so close that she lost track of where she ended and he began. At that point, there was no such thing as too intense.

Peter had his eyes closed when she returned, breathing deeply with his head slumped against the sofa. She wondered if he was still coming down from his earlier high. He looked up at her, his knees falling open when her legs bumped them.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, running a hand through his hair. He leaned into the touch, but didn’t take his eyes off her. He kept watching as she rolled the condom on and knelt over his hips, only moving to wrap his arms around her back. 

It wasn’t until Peter was buried deep inside her, and she made the first careful rock of her hips, that Gwen began to understand his earlier point. There were no boundaries being pushed, no rules being followed, no dark and twisted needs being met. There was only the slide of skin and the sharp little noises and the aching fullness that tingled up Gwen’s whole body. But it showed in little ways--his unusual stillness, the exposed angle of his throat, his steady hands pressing against her back without shoving against her rhythm. Peter was hers, and Gwen was his. The fact that it meant different things to both of them didn’t change how amazing it was to feel him come inside her, warm brown eyes locked on hers.

They slept naked on the couch, the city lights painting bright shadows against the walls. Gwen woke him up once, having dreamed of watching his coffin lowered into the ground. He wiped her tears dry and held her against his chest, where she could hear the steady thump of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains painplay and teenagers failing hard at safe and sane BDSM.


	11. Epilogue

Flash Thompson was no genius, but he wasn't fucking stupid. From the moment they quit with the back and forth, will-they-or-won't-they bullshit, Parker and Stacy had been all over each other every second of every day. It was disgusting, but understandable. They'd both lost people, and losing people makes you hold tighter to the ones you've still got. No, a chimpanzee with Alzheimer's could see that they loved each other. The things that made Flash raise an eyebrow were way less innocent. 

It wasn't like he disapproved. Gwen was smoking hot, way out of Parker's league, and Flash would be lying if he said he'd never pictured her in a miniskirt and glasses with a ruler in her hand. But letting your girlfriend smack you around sometimes was different from being totally, shamelessly whipped. There was a difference between coming to school with a hickey, and letting your rope-burned wrists hang out as you limp into your chair like you're fresh off the set of _Ass-Pounding Olympics, Volume 3_. Nobody needed to know that much about Parker's sex life.

So yeah, the school's two biggest squares were freaks in the bedroom. But even their exhibitionism was easier to watch than the way he looked at her sometimes. It wasn't a sex look--Flash knew his sex looks nauseatingly well at this point. It was the look the freshmen on the team gave him after a good game, or the look a little kid gave the lady dressed as Cinderella. It was vulnerable and private and it made Flash feel weird every time he saw it.

"Did you do the exercises?"

Gwen was staring at him expectantly. He glanced down at the textbook, struggling to remember which chapter they'd been working on. "Sorry. I had a ton of homework last night."

"Of course." She didn't snap at him, but she was close. She kept pushing her phone around the table like she was willing it to catch on fire. He knew she'd been working really hard lately, but he didn't feel comfortable saying anything about it. He put down his Red Bull and leaned over to read the first question.

When Parker approached the table, he gave Flash a tight nod and locked into a staring contest with Gwen. They practically had a whole conversation like that, so many emotions moving across their faces that Flash had to look away. After a minute, he coughed and scooted sideways on the bench, leaving a spot for Parker to sit next to his girlfriend.

"It's cool." He said it to Flash, but he was looking at Gwen. There was another long stare, and then he walked around the table and sat on the ground. He leaned his head against Gwen's knee, and her hand went down to play with his hair.

"Okay, let's go over chapter twelve." The tension melted right out of her, and she didn't stop touching him the whole time. The scene stuck in Flash's mind, more than even the grossest PDA had a right to.

When Gwen was focused on something else, Peter Parker looked at her the way a dog looks at its owner.

She eventually stretched her legs out, and he wrapped himself around them like he was trying to climb her. Flash bit his lip to keep from laughing.

_He's not a dog. He's her pet spider._


End file.
